


KINGDOM COME! ( ramking oneshot )

by ramkingvevo



Category: My Engineer (TV)
Genre: Boy x boy, Boys Love - Freeform, BoyxBoy, Fanfic, Fanfiction, Fiction, Gay, Gay Fiction, Homosexual, King - Freeform, LGBT, M/M, MalexMale, Man x Man, ManxMan, My Engineer - Freeform, RamKing - Freeform, Retrospective, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Short n sweet, gay relationship, lgbt fiction, male x male, not quite lovers, ram - Freeform, short and sweet, thai drama - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramkingvevo/pseuds/ramkingvevo
Summary: ❝ FOREVER, I'VE GOT YOU, YOU'VE GOT ME, I WILL LOVE YOU TILL KINGDOM COME. . . ❞Maybe it's his smile, the way his usual, stoic expression lightens, softens, and warms his chilly aura. Maybe it's his voice, not often heard by most, but available for those willing to listen closely for the words he speaks. Maybe it's his touch, the warmth of his hand as it locks around King's wrist, vernal eyes telling him to follow, and sometimes even to stay. King's not completely sure what it is about Ram that sends his heart into a frenzy. . . All he's really certain of is that he doesn't mind it anymore.[complete]
Relationships: King/Ram (My Engineer)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	KINGDOM COME! ( ramking oneshot )

**Author's Note:**

> ― opinions and constructive criticism are always welcome, so please feel free to leave me a comment!

King wasn't sure. That's all he could say, —to his friends, to his plants, and to himself, even after hours of careful contemplation. He didn't know when the tide had shifted, when Ram's presence had morphed from less of an amusing afterthought to a borderline necessity. One moment it was easy to tease the tattooed junior for the fun of it, easy to play little games with his mind in an attempt to make him speak up loud and clear, and the next King was left lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, questioning everything. It was surreal, like a dream, like King was just a bystander in the wake of his own inclinations. He couldn't explain it, though he wished that he could. He wasn't sure.  
  
Maybe the world flipped on its axis the first time he watched Ram smile at him, — _for him_. Perhaps that was the turning point. King couldn't be blamed for that, not when the younger male's smile was so completely and utterly captivating, the way it would barely ghost across his lips but shimmer in his eyes like the cosmos. Seeing Ram smile was a rarity for most people, King included, but he could still remember the way it felt to watch Ram's mouth curl upward as he snickered in the park that day. It was almost intoxicating, the way he roped King in without ever having to use his hands. He never would have said it aloud, afraid that it would scare Ram away from him when King had fought so hard for the balance they'd formed up to that point, but on that afternoon he'd vowed to make Ram smile again and again, —as often as he could manage.  
  
It was for Ram, of course, but King couldn't deny that he was also getting something very special out of it. . .  
  
Ram could smile in front of anyone he so pleased, that was a given, and King would never dare to take that away from him, —but it was nice to believe that, when they were alone together, his smile was different. More sincere, King supposed, more genuine in the way that it flashed through his warm irises. King liked to think that Ram's smile was cut from raw happiness when he flashed it for him.  
  
Maybe it was the sound of his voice, so smooth and surprisingly even. He didn't speak often, as King was well aware, but when he did it was like watching the sun sink behind tall mountains in a symphony of fiery colors. King could still remember the first time he heard Ram's voice, not loud, but clear and steady. He was confident in the strangest way, his silence acting as a deterrent for those that didn't matter. . . The ones who did would stay, they would wait for him, just as King did. They wouldn't harp on him to speak each and every meeting, —they would learn to understand him by way of body language. Just as King did.  
  
A curt nod meant yes, and that was easy enough. A quick shake of his head meant no, — _simple_. A wrist grasped in Ram's warm hand, grip just tight enough for King to feel the pressure, paired with a light tug and a quick turn of heels, that meant to come, it meant for King to follow along in Ram's footsteps (and he always did, —not always without questions, but he always did nonetheless.) The silent call to stay was much the same, with Ram's unwavering clutch encircling King's slim wrist just as he turned away. He wouldn't say it, wouldn't find his voice to say "I don't want you to leave me alone", but King always understood. . . _Always_. The look in Ram's eyes spoke more than he ever could, hints of nervousness ebbing with the flow of tenderness and slight desperation. And King would stay, —just for him.  
  
He didn't need to hear Ram vocalize his thoughts and feelings to get the gist of them, but that didn't mean King wasn't fond of the junior's voice. Much the opposite, in fact, King found Ram's voice to be soothing, —pacifying, even. Not in the way that it would set his heart on fire, but the means by which it settled on his skin like early morning dewdrops clinging to rose petals. 

Ram always spoke with a purpose, and King was fond of that. He'd known many people that spoke to him in circles, running him around as if his confusion was entertaining to them, as if he was just a dog that could be toyed with and taught to obey absurd commands. Ram, however, would never. He spoke when need be, verbalized when it was necessary, —when he felt the time and setting was appropriate. When Ram spoke, with his voice or with his actions, King listened. Each and every time.  
  
Maybe it was his touch, the one that always lit King up from the outside in. Ram's hands were always warm, and King was envious of that. He also relished in it, letting it sink into his skin like hot water from his shower spicket. There was nothing like the feeling of Ram's soft palms pressing against his flesh, the way that it was almost natural, familiar, —as if it was just meant to be. The idea was senseless, and King knew that. Humans aren't born to be someone else's, and he knew that he didn't own Ram, obviously so given just how hardheaded and strong willed the younger male was. King didn't _want_ to own Ram. . . No, he just wanted to hold a place in his heart. That, alone, was more than enough for him.  
  
Ram's grip was always tightest when he was asking King to stay, when his eyes were slightly widened, giving way to the vulnerability that he very seldom allowed the world to see. But he showed it for King, —allowing the elder male to see the parts of himself that Ram didn't like very much at all.  
  
Maybe it was the way Ram cried. Cruel as it may have sounded without context, King liked the way that Ram cried in front of him, opening himself up for scrutiny in hopes that King wouldn't think lesser of him after his walls crumbled down. And he didn't, —not even for a second. In King's opinion, it took real, unadulterated strength for someone like Ram to allow himself that release. Showing someone the sides of yourself that aren't very pretty takes courage, and King would never doubt that Ram was one of the bravest people he would ever come to know.  
  
It hurt him, of course, to see the way that Ram's eyes filled with tears, to watch as they spilled over his thin eyelashes and streaked down his cheeks like raindrops. . . But it was beautiful in its own right. King had watched, hand first on Ram's shoulder, then atop the crown of his head, as the younger male's wisdom rose above his pride and brought forth a healing effort. It was acceptance propelling above his ego in one fell swoop, a loss of control that was inherently _needed_. It was hard to watch, and even harder to comfort Ram through the ordeal because he didn't know how far was too far, —but it was a watery cascade of true necessity.  
  
It was each and every wound Ram had been carrying around inside of him washing themselves clean of trauma.  
  
King wished that it hadn't needed to happen. But even so, he was happy that he was able to be there for Ram when he needed him the most. He was glad that Ram had chosen him, even if as a last resort. Just the opportunity to be there for him during that time was enough.  
  
Lolling his head to one side, finally tearing his gaze away from the ceiling, King's eyes landed on the boy next to him. Ram's face was illuminated by the dim light of his phone, the tattoo on his neck barely visible in the poorly lit atmosphere. King paused, falling back into thought for a moment or two. . .  
  
Maybe it was the little things, like the art inked into Ram's skin, the way it made him stand out from everyone else. King loved his tattoos, —liked running his thumb over the skin they sank into when Ram allowed for it. Maybe it was the way he glanced at King with uncertainty from time to time, the way he would pull his gaze away quickly when their eyes met. Maybe it was the warmth Ram gave King at night, the sound of his breathing, the way he took care of King in a way that no other friend of his ever had. Maybe it was the tempo they walked with together, the comfort to be found there, the familiar feeling of knowing that someone was there to look out him. . . King still wasn't sure.  
  
He watched as Ram switched his phone off and placed it aside, and before he could notice the way that King was looking at him, the elder male turned his head away and went back to the blank canvas of the ceiling.  
  
"Goodnight," King said softly, —not expecting anything verbal in reply.  
  
Ram hummed in response, and King read between the lines. "Goodnight", "you too", "sweet dreams", —something of the sort. Either way, King would take it without complaints of any kind. 

Even then, King wasn't sure what it was about Ram that sent his heart thumping a mile a minute. Perhaps it _was_ his smile, his eyes, his voice, his laugh, his tears, his strength, his tattoos, his scent, his touch, his warmth. . . Whatever the case, King couldn't be certain anyway. All he knew was that he was beginning to like it, whether he was willing to admit that to himself or not.


End file.
